More and more I find myself in a room as the only man with a group of women. That would be nice if they were all single and looking for love. In my case, they are not. Most are married and parenting my children’s classmates.
Dads just don’t participate that much in these parent meetings for their daughters’ activities. It’s dumped on poor mom. Would be too in my house if there was one for the dumping.
Last Saturday was the mandatory parent meeting for the cheerleaders at St. Timothy’s School; me and 15 lovely mothers were in attendance. They all looked fairly nice. I was in flip-flops and had a visor on to cover my bed head.
Although I’ve attended this meeting for the past five years, I think they felt a good refresher was in order.
We discussed the game and practice schedule and debated how much “stunting” should be done. I’m not too worried but don’t care to see my 13-year-old flying across the gymnasium like a final second NBA half court shot.
We were reminded no jewelry – hoop earrings and “Rah Rah Ree” just don’t mix. Did you know that a neighboring teammate’s finger could get caught in the loop and split the lobe right open? Yuuuuck. Had to put my head between my legs when that image ran through my brain. Thought I was going to pass out.
If I were female and that was even a remote possibility, guess whose ears would not be pierced?
Then we covered the topic of uniforms. Not too short we were informed, it is an Episcopal School. Interestingly, we parents pointed out that the team we play against with the poodle skirts look pretty outdated in the year 2013 (that school is apparently a bit more conservative). But Mrs. Ready, the Middle School Principal, says that skirts can’t be shorter than 6 inches above the knee when you’re kneeling. I measured my kids’ when they were doing their nightly prayers.
“Put on your school uniform and kneel!”
“Why do you have the yardstick dad? Are you doing to beat me?”
“Nah. Just following up on Mrs. Ready’s request.”
Incidentally, she’s also the one who walks through the gym during the school dances reminding kids to “leave room for Jesus.” I love that woman.
Then, the coach said everyone on the team needed to wear a “razorback bra.”
I’d never heard of such a thing, my curiosity was piqued. I almost raised my hand for clairy but from the looks of the others in the room, I was the only one who needed to be enlightened. Plus, I have DJ, a good resource in these situations.
I’ll have to admit, I had a difficult time concentrating for the duration of the meeting…
What in the heck is a “razorback bra?” Does it keep the hair off your back? If so, Great Uncle Gerald needs one of those. Does it have spikes on the back? Kind of a reverse Lady Gaga? Is it manufactured by students from the University of Arkansas?
On Tuesday, a friend from work announced that she was going to Target and asked if anyone needed anything. I know her fairly well so I pulled her in my office.
“Hey, when you’re there, could you see if they have any razorback bras? Stephanie needs one for cheerleading, and I don’t know where to find those.”
“Do you mean racerback?”
“Hmmm.” RACERback. That - makes - sense. “Yea. Yea. Racerback. That’s it. That’s what I mean.” (Nervous laugh.)
So for all the dads out there who are responsible for bra purchases in their home, a racerback bra swoops in on both sides of the shoulder blades, sort of like a swervey capital letter I. If you’re still unsure, picture it on backwards. If you envision something you saw at your bachelor party, you're on the right track.